


Protective Tendencies

by k_nightinggale



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Art isn't made for politics, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gawain is kind of my OC?, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Nobody messes with his people, Protective Arthur, Protectiveness, Whump, all of his knights, author has no idea what he is doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_nightinggale/pseuds/k_nightinggale
Summary: The first time it happens it’s about Tristan. Well, it probably only is the first time they are openly aware of it now that William thinks about it.It's not the last.Or: Arthur is very protective of the people he considers his. The knights are about to realise this.





	1. Sir Tristan And The Priest Who Should Have Shut Up

**_Sir Tristan And The Priest Who Should Have Shut Up_ **

 

The first time it happens it’s about Tristan.  
Well, it probably only is the first time they are openly aware of it now that William thinks about it.

 

 

It starts in one of the strategy sittings of the big council, like all their headache since Vortigern.

A meeting which is, strictly speaking, only calling for Arthur’s attendance. Realistically that’s not possible.  
Non of the knights like to be present, but over time it has become painfully obvious there is no way around it.

  
The big council, or how their king has appropriately enough grown to call it:  “The big Annoyance”, consists of a group of representatives from the 12 counts; scholars; the two most powerful merchants of Londinium; a few older knights from Uthers days including Bill and Bedivere; Mary and an man of the cloth send as spiritual adviser by the head of England’s church (Arthur tried very hard to get rid of him – unsuccessfully. To his and most of the knights disappointment and surprise).

Arthur can only stand to be in the same room with 3 of them for anything considered an extended period of time.  
It’s not all that hard to guess which three.

The first few times the king simply left the room after 10 minutes because, as he explains to William and Bedivere later on, going a few rounds with a training dummy:  
“It was either leaving or cutting out all their tongues. Don’t think I didn’t think about it very hard.”

Seeing as they weren’t entirely sure how much of that had been Arthurs exceptional humour and how much him truly trying to keep himself from committing bloodshed, they left it at that.

  
Most council members are a bunch of over bumptious assholes in fancy hats, thinking themselves better than anyone else.  
  
William can’t blame Arthur. How could he? He hates their guts, too.  
The knights hiding instead of looking for their murdered king’s son and protecting his kingdom. The men of the counts who supported a false king, one selling England’s children and oppressing its people. The church watched, as did the wealthy merchants, interested only in their own gain.

  
All of that doesn’t change the fact that the meetings are crucial.

Therefore, arrangements are made. Those include placing the most annoying individuals of the group as far away from the king as the table allows while strategically placing his knights (now all compelled to a regular attendance) directly around him as a buffer of sorts.

Having them attend too seems to make it bearable to their sovereign and shield brother, so they suffer together.  
William is glad, there are at least some honourable and loyal men left.

  
Clearly Arthur is no friend of politics. Which William thinks sad, since he clearly does have the right mind and intelligence for it. What he doesn’t have is the penchant for back-stabbery and power-games or the patience for unnecessary exchange of courtesies and pussyfooting around everything.

  
(“If there is a problem, just let me solve it.”

“But how, my king, would we know how to do this the fastest and most effective if we don’t discuss the matter?”

“Let me answer this question with a question. When has talking ever gotten things done?”

William can’t completely disagree.)

  
So: sad, yes, but not overly surprising and maybe for the better.

 

 

Most days Arthur solely lounges in his chair, listening but pretending not to listen and crunching an apple or whatever other fruits are on today’s menu, while the rest of the room trys to verbally bash each other’s skulls in. All for the good of England of cause.

  
Today is no different.

The room is caught up in a heated discussion about relief aid for the poorer districts of nearby towns which suffered the most under Vortigerns reign.  
Terms and definitions are thrown around the room and the civilised if tense discussion is headed in the direction of an all-out melee.

It’s the reason there are no weapons, other than Excalibur, allowed in the room.

  
William carefully takes a glance out of the corner of his eye to determine in which mood Arthur is at the moment. Depending on his disposition, the king is either going to call a stop to it soon or get the discussion to escalate to see if he can get a fight out of it.  
  
He would really like to know beforehand which one it is going to be but the boy has an amazing poker face most days. Deciding that Arthur isn’t in a fighting mood (more than usual), William concentrates back in the conversation.

Same old same old; the priest wants more money for mother church,  
Bedivere accuses them of being greedy bastards and tells him they will not see any more gold. Not in these exact words. The man has the paitience of a saint.  
  
Once more, the fat priest addresses Arthur directly. As if that had have apparent effect other than making him eat his apple slightly more aggressively.

Unsurprisingly the blond keeps ignoring him very deliberately.

“If his Majesty, would be so kind as to give the church more funds we could do our duty to your people much more adequately.  
 We have always helped ease the suffering as much as we could. Warm clothing and food for the poor! A dry place to sleep for the children!  
Now, with a king caring and kind as yourself we could do so much more!”

It`s exaggerated flattery, gibberish to start with and every single person in the room is aware of it, yet calling him out on it and would be sacrilegious.

Someone speaks up anyhow. But it's whom the voice belongs to, that is really startling.

Tristan, who is known for being even less vocal in these meetings than his king. Either he isn’t aware of the gaffe or he just couldn’t take it anymore and doesn’t care.

 “What you are telling us, is either lies or pure ignorance. I grew up in the streets you are taking about and the church never gave a damn about what happened to the people there. In all my years I’ve certainly never even seen a shred of your _help._ ”

The darker skinned knight’s voice had stayed level until the last word, which he spat.

The priest was fast to get over his shock.

“That may be,” he starts with a cruel smile  
“because a sinner like yourself was not worthy of any help. A son of a prostitute  working in a bordello.” he scoffs  
  
”Why should the church help those who are hell bound an-“

  
The sound of metal scraping over stone stops the man’s fanatic rant and washes the smug shine out of his face with a wave of white. Instead of piglet-pink he now looks ashen-pale.

All of the sudden it is deadly quiet in the room.

No one dares to even breathe while mesmerized by the bitting cold, blue glow of Arthur’s eyes and the rightous fury bedind them. His hand is, as William uncomfortable realises, resting on Excalibur’s hilt.

  
The voice he speaks with is ice.  
“Shut your mouth or my sword might find its way into it and through what little brain your head has to offer.”

  
The king leans forward in his seat. Both hands are now causally resting on the swords pommel. For some reason Arthurs bearing is scaring William to a ridiculous amount. He just isn’t able to put a finger on what exactly is making the red warning lights in his head go of.  
And glad it isn't directed at him.

“For your information I grew up in that bordello, too.  
With the same man you just insulted. With the man, who did a lot more for the streets you have been talking about than you or the church ever did.  
A man which I call brother. You insult him - you insult _me_.  
  
You will ask his forgiveness,” The king pauses for effect before continuing.

“and then crawl back where you came from to tell your bishop there will be no more golden bathtubs payed for with the tax money of England’s people.  
Tell him if he wants us to stay friends he should use the gold from the state treasury to aid the people for whom it was given to him or else I’m going to have to ask him to pay it back.”

“Your Majesty, I-I…” the man of the cloth starts only for Arthur to stop him by raising the palms of his hands.

“Now, now, just get it over with.”

  
Shuffling and teeth-gnashing priest turns to knight:  
“Sir Tristan I am terribly sorry for speaking out of turn.”

He clearly _isn’t_ terribly sorry, or sorry at all. Under the thin layer of false sincerity is a clear underlying venom. Arthur can hear that too.

  
“Hmmm, that’s not it. I told you by insulting him you insulted me, too.” He says with a knit brow. Feigning ignorance he turns to Bill and asks:  
“Sir William, I’m not educated in the ways of the court, how would one apologize to his king?”

William tries valiantly to restrain a smirk.  
“On his knees I would think, my Lord.”

“You heard him.”

The fat little priest stands there gaping.

  
“Hurry up, would you?” Arthur gestures for him to get on with it.

Undoubtedly the man isn’t used to getting on his knees – while kneeling down he almost trips on his frock. It's overall a very satisfying sight.  
“Sir Tristan I am terribly sorry for speaking out of turn. Please forgive me.”

“What do you say Tristan? Do you accept the apology?” Arthur asked thoughtful

Tristan manages a shrug, which is good enough for him as it seems.

What little humour had creeped into the kings voice is suddenly frozen over again.  
“Now, leave before I remember I’m a hell-bound sinner and forget my manners”  
  
The man scurries of so fast he very nearly leaves a dust cloud in his wake…  
  
  
Silence lasts for a few more heartbeats till the sound of footfalls has faded.

Arthur relaxes, goes back to his usual laid back self, picking his apple back up from the table and his feet of the ground as the says:  
“I think that’s it for today. ‘m seeing those of you I actually like at lunch.”  
  
Excalibur is once again resting on the chairback as if it had never been moved.

 

(Whilst leaving with the rest of the room Bill sees Arthur keeping Tristan back with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.  
William hears it in Arthur’s voice - the ice has melted from his eyes and the warmth, the fire that is always burning inside of him, and reminds the older knight so much of Uther, is back.

“We’re gonna think of something that’s really helping them, Tris. I give you my word.”)

 

 

 

_The first time it happens it’s about Tristan. Well, it probably only is the first time they are openly aware of it now that William thinks about it._

_And since it is Tristan, the one of them who has known Arthur he longest, non of the other knights thinks much of anything of it. Little did they know._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated to correct a few mistakes.  
> Yet always ends up jet with me... 
> 
> The next chapter _is_ going to be up soon. Today I hope.  
>  A tip on who is going to get wumped: It's one of two older knights.


	2. Sir William-Not-A-Traitor And His Very Sorry Accusers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The second time Arthur demonstrates his protective tendencies they are roused by Bill and his habit to get in trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! First of all great big thank you to all of you who left kudos and commented! They made me really happy and my tipping soo much faster.  
> I had / have some difficulties with deciding on a view (as you may notice after this chapter…)  
> Originally I wrote the first chapter in a third person, then decided to do each in another knights point of view (but not the one the chapter is about) and adjusted accordingly. Now I kind of have second thoughts: Wouldn’t it be best to write from the affected knights point of view so you see not only how they react but also what they think about Arthurs protective tendencies?  
> I would be happy to hear your opinion on the matter (and on anything else you want to comment), till then I hope the sudden style change isn’t too disorienting.

**_Sir William-Not-A-Traitor And His Very Sorry_** **_Accusers_**   

 

The second time Arthur demonstrates his protective tendencies they are roused by Bill and his habit to get in trouble.

 

For a change the sharp tongue and wit that so often get him into trouble in the first place have neither warned him beforehand of the coming danger nor do they seem to be able to get him out of it.  
  
It is a Thursday, and by now half of Camelot had noticed that Sir William has been somewhat… _off_ these last days.  
If asked when this had started, no one would have been able to give a precise answer but everyone is in general agreement that it’s been going on for several days and has been steadily growing worse ever since.

It is painfully apparent, even for newly knighted Gawain that something fishy is going on.

For the largest part of the day the nobleman is nowhere to be found, appearing deep in thought during the time he is present in meetings, during communal meals, in the halls or elsewhere.  
If spoken to it isn’t difficult to tell William has an awfully short fuse.

His spat with Bedivere is what marks the zenith of strangeness and from then on only the bravest of servants and, humiliatingly, most courageous of his knight-friends dare speak to him if they can help it.

Gawain is willing to admit he isn’t part of this exclusive club of unhappy few.

Tristan had dared to aske a worriedly watching Percival when a similar fight between the two had last occurred.  
Percival thinks about the question, hard, tugging on his red beard and looking more alarmed with each passing second, before answering with a tentative:  
“Never?”

Shortly after a still furious Sir Bedivere stormes off with a hand full of soldiers and knights, still green behind the ears, supposedly to follow a rumour about some kind of mythical beast plaguing a few smaller villages a three-days-ride from the castle.  
Gossip though had it, in his own words he left to: “Finally get a rest from reckless kings and knights without reason”.

(Gawain has the feeling for once he isn’t included in such statement. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.)

Therefore there isn’t anyone else available for comment on the topic.

  
The one person who apparently hasn’t heard or been informed of Sir Williams’s bad mood happens to be the king himself. To the man’s defence, he has been kind preoccupied with the Viking king threatening to declare war and the whole thing with the village menacing, magical creature.  
  
As William himself often says (with just a tick amusement) politics and diplomacy are not Arthur’s strong suit.  
They make him grumpy.  
And evil magic makes him, as Gawain himself realised, twitchy.

Not a good mixture to begin with.

  
In retrospect, the two of them were probably bound to clash.

  
In absence of Sir Bedivere or maybe even though, the other elder knight of Arthur’s inner circle is burdened with babysitting duty, read: counselling the freshly crowned king in matters of state and keeping him from causing any(more) political incidents (than strictly necessary).

They goat each other on and it happens what has to happen.

  
“They threatened _my People_! What was I supposed to do?” An angry Arthur declares, throwing his arms up in the air. He has clearly reached the end of his rope.

William retorts with a hissy fit of his own, snarling at his king:  
“Anything but provoking them to start a war? What happened to “why make enemies when you can make friends”? Your standing is on unsure footing as it is! Why, do you have to make it even more unsteady by pissing off the barbarians practically controlling our trade?!”

“Bill, what the fuck is it you’re even talking about?” Something in the older knight’s words caught his attention, but Bill just keeps on talking.

As seems to be the motto with him.  
  
“I’m talking about you making it very hard to keep you on the throne, when you are horrible at anything kingly not involving swords or recklessly running headfirst at enemies!”

Gawain bites down on a snort evoked by the almost identical wording to Bedivere’s parting words. His humour wouldn’t be appreciated. Not in this situation.  
Not when the two of them have been at each other’s throat for half an hour already.

  
“Well then maybe you should have looked for someone else to put this bloody crown on!” the blond snaps.

“Yes maybe! Then at least I wouldn’t have to worry about you losing your blasted head at every turn.” William returns, managing to sound less angry and instead – a little scared? Did Gawain read that emotion right?

  
William storms off shortly after and Arthur, fast to reign in his irritability, casting a narrow eyed glance at all those present demands:  
“What’s bitt’n _him_?”

 

Gawain is just strolling through a remote hall in search of the pretty girl he saw serving at lunch or a nice deserted alcove quiet enough for a quick nap when he hears something strange.  
  
The former cage fighter turned-knight does this often. Not, hearing unusual voices. Wandering the passageways.  
In this part of Camelot he usually only encounters a few stray servants and maids. At most.

The voices he hears talking down the hall are no servants. They are much too loud, even in whispering, and arrogant. “Noblemen” his brain supplies scornfully.

As usual, his amazing instincts are right.

  
Sir Charles Chadwick and Count Darey’s annoying sons: Henry and Howard.  
Gawain doesn’t like them. Sure, He can count the nobles he doesn’t dislike on the fingers of one hand but those three he really can’t stand.

Sticking closer to the wall's shadows he listens:  
  
“The comment he made before the king today, He _knows_!”  
Henry echoes’ his brother with a panicked “He knows Charly, he knows.”  
  
“What will we do?” The elder of the two brothers continues nervously.

Contemptuously their elder criticises:  
“Are you men or scared little boys?! Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Perhaps he suspects something but he has no proof. Axton will have him well out of the way long before knows any particulars. As soon as it is done we can set our plans to kill the king into motion.”

  
Kill the king.

Oh, now they did it. They just made him dislike them even more.  
Disloyal bastards. King-killers.

  
And the one king he might actually grow to like as well!  
Art has a great taste in alcohol and is fun to fight with and against. He also isn’t an asshole like the other kings Gawain has had the misfortune of knowing.

Letting him get killed is not an option.

  
He is just about to sneak away to warn Arthur when Chadwick continues:

“With the black bastard away and Goosefat dealt with Uther’s boy won’t know what hit him.”

Something clicks. The absent piece, which left him missing the point of the conversation’s beginning slots into place.

  
It’s William they were talking about.

The older knight’s unusual behaviour, what he said to his king. Losing one’s head can mean two very different things. And William might be much closer to the more permanent of the two than he is aware of.

Oh well, better run and get Arthur.

He manoeuvres past outsourced furniture and sharply turns corners making good time at first.  
But Gawain’s famous luck is lacking today. His brilliant plan of taking the back ways of the castle to get to Arthur faster and without delays dramatically backfires when he runs into the maid (The one he had been looking for in the first place) who apparently ran into Sir Axton putting William through the wringer.

He had anticipated to have a bit more time but Alodie’s breathless whisper of:  
“They are killing him. They say he is a traitor and they are killing him.” makes the knight fear for William’s life to such extend, he instead sends the shaking maid to warn his king, telling her not to let herself be stopped by anything or anyone and sprints of in the direction given to him.

 

He finds the jolly procession somewhere deep inside the east wing.

An obvious choice – the east wing had in the past been the place the royal family resided in.  
This changed with Arthur. He doesn’t like the part of his new home much, avoiding it at all costs and getting a slightly haunted look about him when he has to. It’s the same look he gets at the dock, where the stone is once more submerged in the lakes water. There is no way to be sure but they presume his behaviour originates from distant ghosts of the past rather than his uncles lingering presence.  
At any rate nowadays the rooms and halls are largely abandoned and even the castles staff only frequents them rarely.

  
Again he hears them before he sees them which is his saving grace, since they are far more than he estimated and he was about to run straight into them.

Gawain creeps to the corner of the adjoining corridor and tries to catch a look at them in the reflection of one of the gigantic windows the castles architect seems to have favoured.

  
The picture painted by stained glass is blurred and disconcerting.

Sir William is hanging bound in the grip of two sturdy thugs, looking terrible, while at least five other men are standing in a loose group around them.

  
All this fuss, to get rid of _one_ elderly knight.  
In his head he can hear an affronted Bill complaining at his thought while Bedivere smirks and Arthur laughs uproariously.

Dear god, he spends too much time with them. He is getting attached.  
It’s the only explanation he has for himself standing here.

  
“How did you know, Bill?”

“Why in god’s name should I tell you? You will kill me one way or the other. This way at least I keep my honour. “

As an afterthought he adds:  
“Not that the likes of you would know what the word means.”  
He spits, what Gawain thinks is probably blood at them and is promptly backhand for it.

The watching knight winces in sympathy.  
For the hit, yes, but also for how much it must have hurt _who_ delivered it.  
Axton, Gawain discerns now that he has a face to put the name by, is an old friend of William’s. A hit from the man he has seen William laughing and drinking with must hurt tenfold for that very reason.

  
“Bill, be reasonable. Tell us who else knows of the plan and you might live.”

He gets hit again, this time more than once and by a different nobleman standing by. After another solid blow leaves its victim gasping in pain the dark-haired brute admonishes:  
“Don’t handle him with kid gloves just because you grew up together."

He rips William out of the two thugs' grasp, forcing him to his knees and griping his hair roughly.  
“Who knows?!” he demands giving his victim a shake.

“The lady of the lake.” William deadpans with a pained cough.

When nobody gets the joke he moves on:

“Just kidding - All of Camelot. And it’s you who acts unreasonable.”  
 Directed to Axton he takes on a pleading tone.  
“That’s Uther’s son you are plotting to kill. He was your friend! And Arthur is your king!”

The other knight looks almost sad.  
“The pendragon bloodline is poisoned, Vortigern proved it. The boy is going to doom England to ruin and a fate even worse than his uncle. The seer said so. We have to do this, Bill no matter how much I’d wish for it to be otherwise.”

“What are you even talking about?” Bill, uncomprehending.

Kicks rain down on his ribs for the question “About nothing that might concern you, seeing as you will be dead in a few seconds. Axton, if you are true to our cause this is your chance to prove it. Kill your old friend and show us nothing can keep you from your service to England.”

The situation is beginning to get precarious. Gawain decides it’s now or never.  
He steps out of his hiding place, hoping Arthur and the cavalry will arrive soon.  
He is playing for time and knows it.

“Greetings gentlemen, I’m here to fetch the good Sir William. The king demands his presence and you know how he is, all kingly and bossy.”  
The whole assemblage stares at him incredulously, William included.

Gawain doesn’t know what it is with them. He even stuck to the truth mostly.

“WHAT is _he_ doing here?!”

The older of Arthur’s knights looks at the younger as if he lost it.  
“Yes, you idiot, what are you doing here.”

What an ungrateful bastard.

“Saving your sorry ass.” Sir Gawain shoots back irritated.

“What is he doing here?” someone repeats.

Sir-dark-and-pushy shoots down the bystanders worries.  
“Doesn’t matter, just don’t let him get away. This changes nothing. We simply kill them both.”

The men cutting of his escape route are nothing if not expected.

He addresses Axton again.  
“First you are ending Goosefat” he leers at Gawain,  
“And then I’m dealing with this one.”

  
When he nods gravely and draws his sword Gawain wants to kick himself for leaving his own weapons in his room.

Axton resolutely steps in front of the kneeling man and lifts his swords to strike.

Gawain knows a lot about sword-fighting and the downward slash he is preparing is sure to kill a defenceless man instantly.

“What am I going to tell Arthur?” Gawain despairs.

  
Just when all seems to be over a shadow rushes past him.  
Coming out of nowhere it passes through enemy lines unhindered, leaving a faint blue light in its wake for the fraction of a second.

Without hesitation the shadow  steps protectively in front of William and into the attack, countering Axton’s sword with his own, the weaker steel shattering against the far superior Excalibur with a deafening chink.

  
Arthur gives Axton a brutal shove, landing the already unsteady man on the floor.

While the king looks positively murderous The knight looks completely taken aback, speechless and wide eyed with shock.

  
The dark haired man is more quick-witted when the king steps towards him next. Raising his hands placatingly he pleads:  
“Sir, he planned to assassinate you, your majesty, we have proof of it and he tried to stop us from reaching you.”

“Arthur, he is lying. I know it might be hard to believe me after earlier but they are the ones plani-” Sir William starts weakly only for Arthur stop him.

“Proof, you say.”

Tristan, Percival, and George meanwhile finally catch up with their king (looking slightly jaded, Gawain notices.) a troupe of guards not far behind. They have their swords out already, losing no time restraining the other conspirators and they even remembered to bring one for Gawain so they are forgiven for being fashionable late.

  
(Sitting around the round table Tristan later tells them how Arthur had yelled at the guards until they had been small enough to leave via mouse hole for having kept Alodie out of the throne room. Thankfully the girl had proven sharp and run for Mary’s chambers instead.  
Nobody could keep out Lady Mary from anywhere she truly wanted to be, and thus the message had reached Arthur in the end.)  
  
  
“There is no proof you could present me with that would make me believe Bill a traitor.”  
“ ** _non_** what so ever.” He stresses with a look over his shoulder.

“You on the other hand just beat _my_ knight into a bloody pulp.”  
Heavy emphasis on “ _my”._

And here he goes again, ignoring that technically speaking all knights present are _his_ knights not just the few he has chosen for himself.

“And that offence," Lightning quick he dashes forward and knocks the dark-haired brute out with one purposeful blow with Excalibur’s pommel. He has just enough time for a quiet cry of pain before he crashes to the ground.  
"is unforgivable.”

  
“George, I trust you will find a suitable dark and uncomfortable cell in the dungeons for this fellow and his friends. Don’t cheap out on guards.  
Arthur looks down at the knights with disgust giving the unconscious body a jab with his foot that’s just short of a kick.  
“Just in case we missed a few rats. They tend to bring friends.”

  
Adopting his I-am-done-here-topic-closed stance from now on he is sure to ignore the presence of the men being led away and the guards overseeing this.

Excalibur flies through the air. Arthur throws Percival his once more sheathed (priceless, magical!) sword and he takes hold of it without any fumbling.  
A prospect of how used to it of all the knights are by now to having it sudden flung at them in the most odd moments.

  
“Someone get a healer and the mage” annoyance flirts over Arthur’s face briefly, “If you can find her.”  
The king falls to his knees by William’s side.

The knight is in the mean while more lying on the floor than kneeling and holding his, no doubt, bruised ribs while pointedly looking at the floor.

Arthur sees it, too. A curved brow dips in concern.  
Then a hand comes up slowly, as one would trying not to startle a wounded animal, to cup the side of his head.

It’s such a tender gesture that Gawain wants to look away while at the same time unwilling to avert his eyes.

Williams jaw is working.  
When he finally looks up Arthur’s smoothing baby blues are waiting.

  
The silent conversation going on between them lasts a couple of heartbeats. Each man searching for something in his counterparts eyes.  
  
Then the moment comes to a close and William shudders out a sigh. All tension leaves him at once leafing him leaning against Arthurs offered shoulder.

“I’m getting a stretcher.” Tristan speaks up and runs of so fast he probably doesn’t see the thankful look his oldest friend is shooting him.

(later when the physician has seen to Bill’s injuries and he is laid out on Arthurs bed (Arthur had insisted. “Best secured rooms in Camelot. Maybe even all England. I have you to thank for that.” He also insisted all of the girls and Blue be taken there and would have without doubt included his knights if there would have been any chance they let him without a fight. For now he had settled for having all of them standing guard.) Arthur asks quietly, uncharacteristically so:

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”  
  
And William answers just as solemnly:  
“I had no prove. I feared you wouldn’t believe me”  
  
Desperation creeps into his face.  
“I thought I could trust him. I told you, _you_ could trust him.  
But I was wrong, and it could have cost your life. Cost another king his life.”  
  
Arthurs voice is light and warm like the fireplace warmed room they are sitting in when he answers.  
“I’m harder to kill than that. Ask Tristan or even Bedivere once he is back if you won’t take my word for it.”

William stays quiet. Something about today awakened old shadows.  
  
“It’s fine Bill. All's well that ends well.”  
  
The assurance doesn’t get him anywhere either so Arthur just grips his ankle carefully over the blanket and stays.

After all the young king has yet to find someone to out stubborn him when it matters most.  
He can wait. )

_The second time Arthur demonstrates his protective tendencies they are roused by Bill and his habit to get in trouble._

_For a change the sharp tongue and wit that so often get him into trouble in the first place have neither warned him beforehand of the coming danger nor do they seem to be able to get him out of it._

_They don’t have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you goooo! Take it and let me have my well deserved sleep.  
> I'm going to be sooo tired tomorrow so I hope you think it's worth it.
> 
> update: Rrrrr. sleep-deprived me was in such a hurry she not only posted the notes for chapter 1 here but also an unfinished draft instead of the completed text. fixed it. (sorry?)


End file.
